Short Story: "Hook and Net and Twenty Men" (Original Fiction)

[deemoyza]

Hook and Net and Twenty Men | 2069 words | Fantasy

Marie was lounging in a chair in the parlor, reading through an old book for perhaps the fiftieth time, when the clock on the mantel began ticking again. It was as quiet as any clock, but after nearly three years of silence, each second cracked like a gunshot to Marie’s ears, and apprehension and curiosity immediately went to war in her heart. What had the ferryman brought this time? Would it look anything like Rose, or would Marie need to peel and scrub away layers of salt and sand, gouge out crystals of coagulated sin as bright and seductive as any ruby?

There was only one way to find out.

She sighed and closed her book, then retrieved her bag of supplies and asked Reginald to mind the house while she was away. Reginald paid her little heed, stretching his long limbs in a patch of sunlight on the rug, then rising and cleaning his face with the utmost care, long white whiskers glistening in the light. No matter. He was a natural hunter, had been so even as a human, and Marie knew that anything out of the ordinary, be it a walking shadow, lurking specter, or thieving human, would catch his attention and coax his predatory instincts to life.

She pulled her hat over her ears and wrapped her cloak tighter around her body to ward off the damp, chill wind that blew in from the ocean, and picked her way down the path to the water, to the cave at the northeast end of the shore.

The ferryman stood outside, leaning against a rock, a tendril of smoke rising from the pipe clenched between his teeth. "Mornin’,“ he said, in a voice that rivaled the sound of scraping barnacles off a boat, "gotcher sis in there. Wasn’t easy to find, this time. Reckon the current took her.”

Marie dropped a handful of gold coins into the ferryman’s waiting palm. "Where did you find her?“

"North o’ the cape. Some trav'lers up there were crowin’ ‘bout a woman on the shore, all bound up in weeds, who’d run back to the water as they 'proached. Followed the rumors, an’ there she was.”

“Did she come willingly?”

The ferryman laughed. “Does she ever? Took hook and net and twenty men, some of 'em to the depths. Yer charms’re workin’ fine, though. Docile as a lamb, she is, now.”

“I apologize for the trouble. Whose men were lost? I must repay them.”

“Wouldn’t bother. Said they worked for a fisherman who isn’t real. They were smugglers and thieves, the lot of 'em. Those that drowned got the better end o’ the deal, believe me.” He winked. "So, are we goin’ to jaw all day, or do you want to see yer sis?“

"Take me to her.”

By the light of the ferryman’s lantern, Marie followed him into the cave, sloshing through frigid water up to her knees. She bit her lip and sucked in her breath at the pain the cold caused in her feet, reminding herself that the path to the altar was not that long at all.

And there it was, enveloped in the soft blue glow of large crystals surrounding it, a stone slab elevated on a platform accessible by rough-hewn steps. And, there, at the base, stood Rose, wild-eyed and bound in ropes, charms glowing on her wrists and chest and lips. She narrowed her eyes at Marie, and lunged at her once before the charm on her chest reacted, and she was shocked back into submission.

“My dear sister,” Marie murmured, lifting a strand of matted hair tangled with kelp. “I am sorry for the pain you must go through, the sins you must bear for those who never truly repent. I’d take it all for myself, if only I could, but I am not able.”

She looked to the ferryman for assistance, and, each taking one of Rose’s arms, they led her up the steps and sat her down on the altar. She tried to rise, but once again activated the charms, and crumpled onto the stone.

Marie worked quickly, removing the charms of submission on Rose’s body and replacing them with those intended to revivify. Then, as color returned to Rose’s lips and fingernails, Marie uncorked a small vial, forcing Rose’s mouth open, poured the contents in. Within moments, Rose was sleeping soundly on the altar, and Marie undertook the tedious task of cleaning her up, returning her to human.

She stripped the remains of Rose’s dress from her body, then searched for growths of concentrated sin. She pried these out with a knife, then applied a pungent salve to the holes they left in Rose’s skin. She scraped barnacles from Rose’s feet, pulled the kelp from her hair, chipped away the salt on her face and hands, and rinsed the sand from her lashes and beneath her nails.

She slid the recovered stones, whose red surfaces sparked and crackled like solid flames, into a sturdy bag and handed it to the ferryman, to do with what he pleased. Often, she’d heard, that involved polishing them and selling them to fortunetellers as scrying stones, the bad luck they carried a fitting punishment, in his eyes, for tricking believers out of their money.

“Many thanks, Marie,” he said, flinging the bag into his ferry. "Now, are headin’ back, or does yer sis need more time? I hafta say, though, we haven’t much 'fore the tide’ll catch us.“

"No, we’re ready. If you’ll help me …”

The ferryman nodded, then, tipping back his cap, scrambled up the altar like someone twenty years his junior. He cooed over Rose’s appearance, her youthful beauty restored, before lifting her in his arms and returning to the ferry.

The wind had calmed by the time they exited the cave, though the air was much colder on the walk back to the house. Reginald, not a fan of the ferryman since accepting from him the cursed fish that changed him into a cat, greeted the ferryman with a throaty growl, and took a vicious swipe at his ankle.

“Aww, kitty in a foul mood today, eh?” the ferryman said, laughing. "Don’t worry none, I’ll be outta here soon. Jus’ gotta get yer sisses inside 'fore they freeze.“

Marie led him upstairs to Rose’s bedroom, where he laid her out on the bed with the reverence of a pilgrim at a shrine. He removed his cap and bowed his head, mumbled something unintelligible, then bid Marie farewell, stopping on his way out to let Reginald have another go at his leather-clad feet.

While waiting for the effects of the sleeping potion to wear off, Marie changed into dry clothes and brewed a pot of tea. Reginald bounded up the stairs before her, nearly causing her to spill the tray, and had assumed his post at the foot of Rose’s bed by the time Marie entered the room. He sat, still as a statue, eager to be the first face his sister saw when she came back to life, as he had done ever since they were all children.

The sun was low in the sky, setting fire to the clouds above, when Rose stirred with a soft moan. She stretched, then opened her eyes, and as she surveyed her surroundings, a smile spread across her face. Reginald, who had been dozing at her feet, jolted to attention and padded to the head of the bed, nuzzling her and drawing a melodious, if raspy, laugh from her.

"Welcome back,” Marie said, pouring a cup of tea for her sister. "I heard this time was quite an adventure.“

"Was it, indeed!” Rose’s voice was rough from lack of use, her throat dried by salt and sand. "I hadn’t planned to go so far out, but the sins I carried were a heavier burden than ever, and they would not come out. So I kept swimming, even as the sea robbed me of life, and I drifted into the current. That is all I remember.“

"The burden has gotten heavier each time, hasn’t it?”

“It has, and I suppose it will continue to. As the town grows, there are more people to commit sins, more confessions to be made. And the sins seem to become more serious. I believe this was the first time I’d taken a confession to murder out to sea.” Rose sighed. "I wish to stop. I need to stop, someday. I can’t imagine an eternity of this. I can’t imagine hearing confessions forever, my heart draped in chains and pulled out to sea. I want to live. Or I want to die. One or the other. I just want to be at peace.“

Marie took Rose’s hand into her own, and for a long time, neither of them spoke. Reginald meowed softly, then curled up next to Rose, purring beneath her touch.

"They’ll know you’re back,” Marie said softly. "The ferryman can keep no secrets.“

"And will you let them in?”

“I must. We live on a delicate edge. Our powers are tolerated because they benefit the townspeople. If I were to shut them out, we’d cross the line to being witches.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“They’d burn us.”

“And would that be so bad? Fire is freedom, as much as the sea is a prison. Smoke rises, ashes fly.” Rose smiled. “Or are you scared, dear sister?”

“I must admit, I am. I have never died before.”

“It is nothing. Being resurrected is harder.” She sighed again, more raggedly this time. “But the first time is frightening. Terrifying. I don’t blame you for being afraid. Do what you must.”

Marie looked into her empty teacup. "If only … if only we could both have the strength death grants you, and use it for living, instead.“

"Strength?”

“You were difficult to catch.”

Rose grinned. “Really? What did it take?”

“According to the ferryman, hook and net and twenty men.”

“It takes more effort each time. Suppose someday they can’t catch me? What happens then?”

“I suppose you’ll be free.” Marie watched an idea dawn in Rose’s eyes and shook her head. "Don’t think of it. You’ll be free, but you’ll be mad and tormented, as well. What kind of existence is that?"

"Well, what kind of existence is this? I’m already tormented, and half-mad, by the thought of what I must endure, over and over again, simply to absolve people who never really repent! Better I be tormented and mad and strong. Better I bring terror rather than salvation, better I die once than live forever as an abomination.”

Marie said nothing.

“I am sorry, Marie, but I am tired. If my work showed progress, if people bettered themselves, if my load grew lighter each time, I’d happily continue. But this time, when the people knock, fling the doors wide. Let them crowd me and fill my ears and heart and mind with sordid confessions, until I cannot move from the weight. Then, let me go, and do not search for me again.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I need you.” Marie blinked away tears. "I don’t bring you back for the town, I bring you back for myself. I am terribly lonely, more so now that Reginald can no longer speak. I miss you. I love you. I need you here with me.“

Rose’s features contorted, and Marie realized that hers was the first confession on Rose’s newly-revived heart. She apologized, but Rose simply shook her head.

"That is why I’m here,” she said. "Don’t fret, dear sister, I will continue. For as long as I can, I will continue.“

***
Rose kept her word, hearing confessions, taking them out to sea, letting her sister revive her. Years passed in this fashion, and while Marie’s hair faded to white and Reginald reflexes slowed, Rose remained fresh and beautiful each time she returned. Townsfolk whispered, but none dared question, for she was their salvation.

One night, not long after she had been revived yet again, Rose gave Reginald an affectionate scratch behind the ears and kissed her sister goodnight, then ascended the stairs to her room. Marie remained in her chair in the parlor, reading an old book for perhaps the hundredth time, and heard the clock on the mantel stop. The glass over its face shattered, and fragments as bright as her tears lay scattered on the rug below.